However, Millie beat her to the punch. The phone was ringing when Claire came home from school on Friday. Dropping her burden of books and tote bags on the kitchen floor, she hurried to pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Claire? How are you?”
Claire recognized the gravelly voice immediately. “Hi, Millie. How are you?” The older woman had insisted they be on a first-name basis from the moment Claire’s signature had dried on the rental contract.
“Oh, I guess I’m about as good as one can be when they’ve lived on this good earth for as long as I have,” Millie answered with a sigh. “Listen, Claire, I won’t keep you but a minute. I wanted to invite you and Smokey over for supper Sunday night.”
Claire smiled.
But before she could get a word in, the landlady hurried on. “Now, I know they say they don’t allow pets here, but surely they couldn’t object to a short visit.”
Claire chuckled. “I don’t think they’d mind too much. And thank you for the invitation, Millie. Smokey and I would love to come. Can I bring anything? Besides Smokey, I mean.”
“Oh, heavens, no. But now, don’t expect anything fancy. There’s not enough room in this little cubby hole they call a kitchen to make much more than soup and a sandwich. But I’ll see what I can rustle up.”
“I’m sure whatever it is will be delicious. Please don’t go to any trouble. And thanks for the invitation, Millie. What time should I. . . uh . . . we . . . come?”
“Is six o’clock too early?”
“Just right. We’ll see you then.”
Claire spent most of her Saturday pulling weeds and clearing out the beds of languishing summer flowers. Along the sidewalk and near the back door, zinnias were beginning to bloom in bright bursts of orange and yellow and burgundy, utterly changing the face of the backyard. In summer the gardens surrounding the flagstone patio had worn shades of pink, from pearl to fuchsia. Now Claire was delighted as the yard began to don its bright fall wardrobe. She would have to remember to tell Millie how much she was enjoying the rewards of the older woman’s labor.
On Sunday morning she attended church at a small nondenominational church near the elementary school. In her systematic, organized way, Claire had meant to attend each of the seven churches in Hanover Falls before deciding on a church home. But since arriving in the town more than a month ago, she'd found excuse after excuse to sleep in on Sunday morning. The truth was, it was very difficult for her to walk into a gathering alone. She had never liked meeting new people. It made her feel vulnerable, on display. But entering the small sanctuary this morning had not been nearly as difficult as she'd imagined.
This church reminded her of the one she'd attended in the small college town where she'd lived for seven years before moving to Hanover Falls. Now, as the organ swelled with the notes of a familiar hymn, Claire realized how much she'd missed the time of worship and fellowship each week.
She was embarrassed but pleased when, in the middle of the sermon, a familiar little red head peeked over a pew a few rows in front of her. The boy waved vigorously in her direction. After the service, Jarrod Hamilton’s parents introduced themselves along with the parents of several other third graders. Everyone seemed so friendly and welcoming. Already she felt this might be a place she could call her church home. One of the first things Nana would ask her when they spoke on the phone would be “Have you found a church yet?” This time she might have an answer for the grandmother who had introduced her to the Lord so many years ago.
Claire’s heart swelled with gratitude as she thought again how different her life might have been had Nana not taken her under her wing when she was just a little girl.
At twenty-five, Claire was just beginning to comprehend the emotional battles her mother had fought over the years and the various problems that had plagued her parents’ marriage. For the first time, she understood that her mother’s and father’s failures as parents had little to do with her. As she grew older, she was piecing the events of her childhood together and realizing her mother’s health problems had probably stemmed from severe depression, which had truly been beyond her power to control. Her father had been consumed with her mother’s needs and therefore had been unable to recognize the struggles of his young daughter.
Myra Anderson had suffered from clinical depression most of her life and she died—of a broken heart, Claire often thought—the year Claire was a sophomore year in high school. The woman never fully recovered from the deaths of her babies, and her mental anguish had manifested itself in a variety of physical ailments.
Claire remembered how stunned she'd been to read in her mother’s obituary that she had been only forty-one years old. Tired eyes, hollow cheeks, and a defeated demeanor had made her seem two decades older.
Claire’s relationship with her father had remained cordial, though never close, until his death of a heart attack five years ago. His sudden death had come as a shock, yet Claire realized somewhat guiltily that Nana’s death would grieve her far more than had either of her parents’ deaths. Though she sometimes wondered if she would always hold some bitterness toward her parents, she'd tried to forgive their shortcomings. She didn’t think she would ever understand the concept of “forgive and forget.” How could she forget mistakes that had changed her life and formed the very person she was? Yet, despite the heartache of her past, with Nana’s guidance she'd found a sustaining security and peace in her growing faith in God.
Claire drove home from church feeling content and hopeful for what the future held for her in Hanover Falls. She fixed a sandwich for lunch and spent the afternoon sprawled on the sofa in the living room reading a new mystery novel she'd checked out from the town’s tiny library. She relished simply spending time in her own little house.
As it neared six o’clock, she changed into slacks and a sweater and tried to tame her unruly strawberry-blond curls into a barrette. She coaxed Smokey into the backseat of her old car and headed across town to the Riverview Manor Apartments.
The apartments were part of a large health-care complex on the banks of the Gasconade River at the edge of town, adjoining rolling patchwork fields. The squares of plowed earth and fields of amber-headed milo held the promise of autumn.
The apartments were arranged in pods of six to eight units with miniature courtyards within each pod. The grounds on the outer edges were newly planted with thick grass and shrubs. At the center of the acreage, the freshly broken ground for the new senior citizens’ center cut a wide swath of dark earth through the campus. Claire had read in the paper about the fund-raising efforts for the center, and on more than one occasion, she’d heard Millie complain about the blowing dust and debris from the building site.
Parking in a space designated for visitors, Claire pulled Smokey from where he cowered in the backseat. Securing the heavy tomcat in her arms, she headed in the direction of Millie Overman’s apartment, following directory signs along the pathway.
Millie answered the door with a happy shrill. “Smokey!”
The cat leapt from Claire’s arms and wove a figure-eight around Millie’s legs, purring loudly. The frail woman stooped to scratch the cat’s upturned chin, tears in her eyes.
“He’s missed you, Millie.” Claire was surprised to find her own eyes damp.
“No more than I’ve missed him.” Millie cleared her throat and stood to her full five feet three inches. “Thank you for taking care of him, Claire. He looks good. You must be feeding him well.”
“I’m just following your instructions,” she demurred. “I’ve always wanted a cat, and Smokey is just the kind I would have chosen. “I wish I could have known him as a kitten.”
“Oh, he was the cutest little ball of gray fur you could imagine. And so frisky! He would chase a ball of yarn for hours.” Millie ran her hand affectionately over the scruff of the cat’s neck. “But you’re getting old now, aren’t you, Smokey Boy? Yes, yes, we’re getting old, aren’t we?”
While S
mokey explored his first mistress’s new apartment, Claire helped Millie set the table. Contrary to her caveat, Millie had fixed a huge supper of roast beef with mashed potatoes, gravy, and all the trimmings. Claire savored each bite, reminded of dinners at Nana’s house.
Millie had just placed a generous serving of warm apple cobbler in front of Claire when the doorbell rang. She excused herself and hobbled to answer the door. Before she reached the foyer the bell chimed again. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Give an old woman a chance, will you?” she groused good-naturedly.
From where she sat, Claire’s view to the door was blocked, but she heard a deep male voice greet Millie. “Hello, Mrs. Overman. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Claire heard the visitor inhale deeply through his nose. “Mmm, something sure smells good in here.”
“Hello there, Michael. If you’ll promise to remember to call me Millie, I’ll invite you in for a bite to eat.”
“Oh no, no. Thank you for the offer. It does smell wonderful, but I’ve already eaten. I just stopped by to see if you’ve finished that questionnaire I dropped off the other evening.”
“Oh my . . . I’m afraid I forgot all about it.”
“It was the survey about the apartments,” he reminded.
“Yes, I know which one you mean,” she snapped. “I just forgot to fill it out. Now, I wonder what I did with that. . . .” The sound of a desk drawer opening and papers being riffled floated into the small dining room where Claire sat picking self-consciously at her cobbler.
“Do you need it right now?” Millie called out to the entryway.
“Well, we’d like to have them all turned in by tomorrow evening, if possible. I can give you another copy if you like.”
“Maybe you’d better do that. I can’t find a thing in this place.” Exasperation was thick in Millie’s voice. “Now, in my house I knew right where everything was. If I was home I could put my hands on it just like that.” She snapped her arthritic fingers to prove her point. “But then, if I was home I wouldn’t be filling out that stupid survey, now, would I?”
Claire heard the smile in his voice. “No, I guess not, Mrs. Over— Millie,” he quickly corrected himself.
“Good for you,” Millie teased, her good humor returning. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Michael, come on in for a minute. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. You can at least have some apple cobbler, can’t you?”
“Well, if you twist my arm.…”
Their voices grew closer, and feeling as though she’d been caught eavesdropping, Claire hurriedly wiped her lips with her napkin and turned in her seat toward the visitor.
Recognition struck her much as it had that morning on the patio when she saw his picture in the newspaper. This was the man from the photograph in the Hanover Falls Record. Millie was making introductions, and Claire pushed back her chair and started to rise.
“… and this is Michael Meredith,” Millie was saying. “Michael is some bigwig here at the apartments. I can’t ever remember your title…” She disappeared into the kitchen.
“Please…don’t get up.” He gestured for Claire to remain seated. “I’m the administrator of Riverview,” he explained. “So you’re one of the new teachers? It’s nice to meet you, Claire.”
“Yes. I teach third grade. This is my first year of teaching.”
“I would imagine that is quite a challenge.”
“Oh, it is, but a fun challenge. I really am enjoying it. And Hanover Falls. This is a great little town.”
“It is. I’m still kind of a newcomer myself. I’ve only been here two years now, but it feels as much like home as anywhere I’ve ever lived.”
There was an awkward lull, filled only by Millie rattling dishes in the kitchen.
“I’m renting Millie’s house on Brookside Drive,” Claire offered, to fill the silence.
“Ahh, so you’re Smokey’s new mother?”
She smiled, and as if on cue, Smokey sauntered into the room.
Sheepishly, Claire looked in the cat’s direction. “I hope it’s okay if he visits once in a while.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He winked at Millie, who’d emerged from the kitchen just in time to see she’d been caught red-handed.
While Millie fussed over Michael Meredith, pouring coffee and setting a large serving of cobbler in front of him, Claire watched him from the corner of her eye. In a crisp white dress shirt and red silk tie, he was the epitome of “tall, dark, and handsome.” His dark, almost black hair fell in thick waves in front, and though cut short, it sprang up in ringlets at his neck. He wore the faintest shadow of a beard, as though he'd forgotten to shave that morning, and his chin sported a deep cleft. His smile showed white, even teeth. The eyes above the smile held an expression Claire could not quite put her finger on. Sadness, perhaps. She was certain now she’d never met Michael Meredith, for she would have remembered this man. And yet, in person even more than in the newspaper photo, he reminded her of someone.…
“Here, Claire, let me warm your coffee,” Millie insisted, hovering over Claire’s chair. She poured another inch into Michael’s cup as well and bustled into the kitchen and back out with the warm pan of cobbler. She spooned a second generous serving onto Michael’s not-yet-empty plate. With Millie’s back turned, he gave Claire a conspiratorial smile that said “let’s humor the old girl, shall we?”
But Claire held up a hand as Millie headed toward her plate, spoon in hand. “Just a small helping for me, please, Millie. It’s delicious, but I ate too much of that wonderful roast beef.”
Michael took a sip of coffee and wiped his mouth. “So you’re feeling at home here, are you, Claire?”
She tried desperately to think of a witty, clever answer but felt suddenly tongue-tied under his gaze. “Oh yes . . . very much so,” she managed.
“Do you have family here?”
“No. I’d never been here before until the day I interviewed.”
“What made you choose Hanover Falls?”
“To tell you the truth, I didn’t have terribly many schools to choose from. I really wanted third graders and there was only one other opening in the area. My grandmother lives in Kansas City, and I didn’t want to be too far away from her,” she explained.
As they talked, Claire relaxed a bit and began to enjoy their conversation. With Millie interjecting amusing anecdotes, Michael versed her on some of the more colorful characters who inhabited their quaint village.
It was after eight o’clock when he looked at his watch. “Look at the time! I really need to get going.”
He pushed back his chair and reached down to give Smokey one last scratch under the chin. “Will you be home tomorrow evening, Millie?”
“I plan to be.”
“I’ll have Ollie stop by to pick up your questionnaire. You’ve met Ollie, haven’t you?”
“Oh yes. Who hasn’t met Ollie? That little man was a big help when I moved in.”
“Ollie—Oliver Moon—is Riverview’s jack of all trades,” Michael explained to Claire. “He’s somewhat of an institution around here. As I understand it, he came to work here as a young man many years ago when his mother was a resident. He must be fifty-five or sixty now. Ollie has some mental disabilities, but apparently he made himself so indispensable, he’s been here ever since. You’ll see him around town, if you haven’t already. He’s hard to miss.”
Millie and Michael laughed at what was apparently an inside joke.
“I’ll find that form and have it all ready to go when Ollie comes by,” Millie assured him.
“I think he works the late shift on Monday nights, so it might be after seven before he gets here. Will that be all right?”
“That’ll be fine. I’m not planning to go anywhere.”
“Thanks again for that delicious cobbler.” He moved toward the door. “It was nice to meet you, Claire.”
She nodded. “You too.”
Claire followed them to the entryway and stood at the door with Milli
e as Michael walked down the pathway toward the main parking lot.
“He is such a nice young man,” Millie exclaimed as he disappeared from sight.
“Yes, he is,” Claire agreed, moving to help Millie clear away the dishes. The older woman chattered away as they worked. When the dishes were done, Claire pleaded an early morning ahead of her. Thanking Millie again for the delicious meal, she gathered Smokey into her arms and headed to her car.
On the short drive home, she replayed her conversation with Michael Meredith over and over. His striking good looks had intimidated her somewhat, and yet she was drawn to him. And it wasn’t just his appearance. The man seemed to be completely unaware of just how attractive he was. It was a sensitive, vulnerable quality about him that she found intriguing. He seemed sincerely interested in her life, and it was clear his affection for Millie was genuine.
She turned into her driveway and parked the car in the garage. After making sure Smokey had food and water in his bowls, she went inside to get ready for bed. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed, suddenly exhausted.
But as sleep crept upon her, the happy thoughts of her evening at Millie’s were displaced by an unwelcome memory from her childhood. The scene wove itself into her subconscious and churned her thoughts into disquieting dreams that she would have called nightmares were it not for the truth in them.
“Kitty!” Her mother’s voice drifted up the stairs and broke in on her childhood game of playing house.
Claire’s given name was Claire Marie Katherine—Marie and Katherine for her two grandmothers. But when she was a tiny baby, Daddy had nicknamed her “Kitty,” and it had stuck. Now everyone called her Kitty.
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